Gay Camp
by HecticDemon
Summary: After finding 'inappropriate content' on Dean's computer, John ships his heterosexual son off to gay camp to be 'cured'. However, there seems to be a possibility that John's actions may have caused the exact thing he was trying to avoid... Will be up to M in later chapters.


**A/N: Hey guys! So this is my first fic on my new account... I didn't think some of the old smut was appropriate for my new college friends who wanted to read my fanfics. So I made another account, which will be... Comparably milder.  
Although, that being said, I don't think our definitions of 'comparably milder' will be even close to the same. Prepare to be mentally scarred. *winks* Anyway... On with my fiction! Sorry if it's slow to start, I've been out of practice for a few months.**

**In case it wasn't obvious, I don't own Supernatural. If I did, there'd be far more smut in the series. FAAAAAAAAAR more smut.**

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I didn't think I'd ever been so mad in my life. My hands shook with rage, so I curled them into fists in my lap. I couldn't believe I was here, sat on this bus with all these guys. I couldn't understand what had happened, what had brought me here.  
I mean, the stuff that my Dad had found on my computer... That was a _one time thing_! It wasn't like I planned to do it again; I hadn't enjoyed it quite enough for that...  
Someone nudged my boot with their foot lightly, and I tore my stormy gaze from the rain splattering the window to glance at the guy beside me. "Um... Can I...?" He gestured a pale, thin hand at the spare seat beside me, and I growled softly, eyes dark. His shoulders slumped slightly at the sound, and I felt a pang of guilt hit me hard, so I pushed my rucksack off the seat beside me and resumed my glaring out of the window.  
He sat down slowly, being careful to maintain distance between us - I think my pissed-off demeanour had set him on edge - and put his headphones on, fiddling with the crucifix around his neck. I tried to hold in the snort of laughter, and failed miserably. His eyes flicked to me, curious. "What?" He asked, removing his headphones. "Do I amuse you?"  
I paused for a moment then, briefly enraptured by the silkiness of his voice, before clearing my throat. "I find it ironic that so many people on this bus are wearing religious symbols. Isn't God supposed to be a homophobe?" I saw the flicker of annoyance in his eyes, and he scowled.  
"Why do you think we're all _on _this bus? We're going to be cured." He answered shortly, all traces of that soft voice gone.  
"Cured..." I laughed briefly. "Being gay isn't a disease, I don't get why people see the need for places like this."  
The anger in his eyes faded, and once again I was fixed in his curious gaze. "If that is your belief... Why are you here?" He asked softly, head cocked half-heartedly to one side.  
"I didn't have a choice." I grumbled quietly. "My Dad sent me because he thinks I'm gay. I'm not," I added quickly, sensing that now was probably a good time to make that clear, "I'm not. He just... Found some stuff on my computer..." My voice dropped and I blushed stupidly, feeling ashamed.  
His fingertips brushed the back of my clenched fist, and my eyes shot up to his, hand relaxing under his touch. "Do not be ashamed..." He whispered, his blue eyes staring at me intently. "I will not judge you."  
I swallowed then, fighting to ignore the tightening in my stomach and the pounding in my chest. "I know." I answered, discreetly moving my hand away so that my heart could resume its regular rhythm. He nodded, moved his hand back, and put his headphones back on, closing his eyes and resting his head against the seat.

The bus journey was two hours or so, and the stuffy air made sweat pool in the palms of my hands and the hollows of my vertebrae. I could feel my pulse quickening under the intense heat, and leant my head back, breathing lightly. It was actually _really damn hot_, and I was starting to feel kind of nauseous. My stomach heaved, and I held my breath, fighting to keep down the vomit that rose in my throat, shifting to put my head between my legs.  
"Here." I felt the soft hand resting my sweat-dampened shirt, rubbing my back gently as a full bottle of water was waved in front of my hazy eyes. I lifted my head up slowly, feeling the beads of sweat roll down my forehead as I glanced at the guy beside me. He shook the water gently, and my eyes fixated on the condensation running down the side of the plastic, causing my tongue to dart out and dampen my dry lips. A slow, lazy smile flickered across his face, and he pressed the bottle into my hands gently, despite the damp hair sticking up at odd angles on his own head. I took it gratefully and gulped down a long drink, groaning quietly at the relief in my throat, eyes closing.  
"Thank you." I whispered, handing the bottle back. My skin prickled as our hands met, and my eyes met his quietly. "Thanks." I said again, feeling a soft blush rise in my cheeks.  
He considered me for a moment, then smiled. "... Castiel. Castiel Novak." He breathed, offering me his hand. I took it in mine to shake, grinning weakly.  
"Dean Winchester."


End file.
